


His Heart

by delicate_mageflower



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a fluffy ending, Chronic Pain, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Team as Family, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/delicate_mageflower
Summary: The Inquisitor is injured in a fight and the Iron Bull sees something in her which had somehow slipped his notice before…and it scares the shit out of him.





	1. Together

Ass deep in demons is nothing new, but this time it is…different. Because _they_ are different.

To the Iron Bull, Astrid Trevelyan is no longer just the Inquisitor. She is his kadan, his partner in more than just battle. He wears her dragon’s tooth around his neck at all times, and fighting with her is now even more terrifying than he’d dreamed possible.

Watching her fumble at a Fade rift was a potential inconvenience in the beginning, before he was attached but recognized she’s the only one among them of any real use in those fights. Later, seeing her tired or injured in the midst of any battle became a concern from which he made a point to separate himself, of which he tried not to think too hard.

But now he cannot look away, so caught up in seeing her fall he momentarily neglects all of his training, leaves himself a bit too open. A pride demon’s electric attack hits across his ribcage and _fuck,_ that burns, but he pushes that down to get to her.

“Cover me,” he shouts to Varric or Dorian, it doesn’t particularly matter which of them.

He runs to her, quick as he can, and she looks _bad._

And the demons spawning from this rift are no longer his greatest present fear.

“Kadan,” he whispers, nudging her as gently as he can manage.

Shit, that’s a lot of blood. He doesn’t understand how the blow she just took from a rage demon didn’t instantaneously cauterize every last wound on her body, but instead the poorly tended slash she acquired from a group of bandits not long before seems to have reopened. She has visible burn marks, too, already so damn tired from the walking and the killing and the sun and she…

_“Kadan!”_

Dorian swings past and casts a barrier large enough to cover the both of them before launching a walking bomb in the other direction, and Bull realizes she is slowly grasping for his hand.

“I’m alright,” she mumbles, and she wastes no time in forcing herself to her feet.

She has the weight of the whole world on her shoulders, and Bull doesn’t see how it’s possible but he really wishes she could take a damn break before she kills herself keeping herself moving the way she does.

He is staying close to her now, though, watching her back. It’s not the most tactical approach and he knows effectively taking one man out of the battlefield is putting them at a major disadvantage, putting them all at risk, but…

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to care this much.

She launches an energy barrage, a static cage, and a blizzard all in quick succession, and she appears to be holding up surprisingly well through sheer willpower.

But when she raises her arm to disrupt the rift, that is when he sees her knees buckle, sees her hands shake.

He hears her, just barely, a sound she is clearly trying desperately to hide—she is screaming.

This hurts her. This is excruciatingly painful. And she has no other choice but to keep at it.

He runs up behind her and presses his hand down over where her skin has been torn open and leather and cloth are stained in its wake, all he can do keep the bleeding down. Her whole body is trembling and lax, and she nearly lets herself fall into him. She probably would have if they didn’t need her right now. Her, specifically, the Inquisitor, the leader, the fucking “Herald”—the mistake, in reality, but all the same the only person who can get this job done.

She bites the insides of her cheeks, she doesn’t want Bull to know how bad this can be. She doesn’t want anyone to know, but he in particular will worry too much. He’ll make it into a whole _thing._ Void, he already is in this moment. She has to hide how much she’s suffering. That’s partially Circle upbringing talking, but also largely having to maintain the image of the infallible hero. Her needs come last, as they always have.

Bull has been the only exception. Bull is the one who sees through her, who puts her first and takes care of her. So she has to hide this if she can. She knows it’s most likely too late, but she doesn’t see any way around it.

Her arm drops prematurely, she can’t hold it. It’s so close she can feel it, the rift is almost closed, but she can’t…she can’t…

“Almost…got it,” she says through gritted teeth, desperately trying to lift the anchor back into position, and Bull detects this reassurance is meant solely for him. The long string of incoherent consonants which pour from her tightly guarded lips after, however, were meant to remain hidden—also for him.

He picks her arm up by the wrist and extends it towards the rift for her, holding her up where she cannot do so for herself.

He doesn’t know how he’s never seen this before. Any Ben-Hassrath—current or otherwise—should be able to spot how obviously in pain she is.

The answer must be, then, that he did not _want_ to see her hurt like this.

_Fuck._

“You can do this, kadan,” he encourages gently. “I’ve got you.”

_I’ve got you._

The thrum of magical energy overtakes them, the air around them seems to vibrate at the final push. No one else can hear her, he is sure of that, but the sound of her pain goes through him like a fucking dwarven axe.

She falls once it’s done, slides right down past him and hits her knees. He kneels down to meet her, tries to force her to maintain eye contact.

“Is it always this bad?” he asks quietly, but she doesn’t answer.

“Astrid…kadan…look at me…”

“It’s fine,” she replies in an unnervingly uncharacteristic drawl. “I’m fine.”

She’s wounded, not weak. That’s what she needs him to believe. It isn’t the mark at all, that has nothing to do with her state.

Not that she could possibly articulate such a thing, however. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire, the pain of manipulating the rift so severe she could almost forget she even has other present injuries. She can’t see straight and she can’t argue.

“Hey Tiny, come on, we need to get her to a healer…”

She tries to tell them she’s okay, but she doesn’t get it out. To the Void with it, mind over matter only takes her so far before her body wins, before it crashes.

She doesn’t hear Bull calling for her, hearing instead only harsh ringing leading her down the vast pitch black tunnel closing in around her.

Whatever takes the pain away.

***

“That mark…does it hurt?” Bull asks much later, after she’s had her wounds dressed and was given time to recover enough to move at all. She is still on orders to rest, but she is able to do so in her own quarters, and he’s been by her side the whole time. “When you’re fighting, or only when you’re near a rift? Or is it all the time?”

“I already told Josephine,” she grumbles, “it’s not _pain,_ it’s—”

“I’m not Josephine,” he interrupts. “I didn’t ask what you told her, I asked if it hurts.”

“What fucking difference does it make if it hurts?” she snaps. “I can’t just _stop.”_

“I want to help you, kadan.”

“You _can’t.”_ She is seething like a petulant child, placing her burden onto him and taking it out as though any of it was his fault.

She’s pushing him away when she needs him most.

In the Circle, no one shows pain without punishment. Growing up in nobility, even for a short time, isn’t much different (however less severe it may be, however less typically violent).

But there is no preparation for leading a crusade of this magnitude, for being widely accepted as a chosen one, as divine intervention. She hates that image of herself, but she cannot let down those who believe it.

“Astrid, I—”

“Please, Bull, go, just…go.”

There is a pause and she almost wonders if he’s going to protest, until she hears several defeated footsteps and then the opening and closing of a door.

And as soon as she is certain he’s gone, she allows herself to break, weeping into her pillow and clutching her own left hand.

***

“Beaten, bleeding, burning, bruises, blows to the head, taken so casually,” Cole mutters. Bull doesn’t even bother to ask where he came from; he’s almost used to it by now. “Because it has to be. _She_ has to be. Casual, casually, a casualty of circumstance. Mage blood clashed against noble blood, _always_ wrong, wrong place at the wrong time, near death and life changed forever. An accident, _and_ a responsibility. Morality, mortality, the fate of the world hangs in the balance and she knows, so she perseveres. It hurts her, begs her to surrender, and she wants to. She is too important, she understands, or she would be pleased to let it take her, to _end_ this suffering.”

“Well, shit, kid,” Bull sighs. “Not sure how any of that is supposed to help me right now.”

“She hasn’t said the words: not _that_ word, but _those_ words,” Cole continues. “The watchword sits delicately on her tongue, trapped behind her lips, sometimes beating on her teeth like a cage to be let out. She holds it back, holds it in, wanting to be sure her limits have been broken, and they haven’t. She is not afraid to say it, only cautious. But those words, the important words, they bury themselves in her throat, stuff themselves down, frightened of what it could mean were they to come forward. Would she hear them back? Or perhaps this is all just fun and games after all and she’s a stupid girl for laying out her heart. She was no one before chance gave her the anchor. She could have died at the Conclave and no one would have mourned. She fears she is someone now, though; not to the world but to _him.”_

He pauses as though he is expecting Bull to say something, but nothing comes. If there is anything, however, Bull knows Cole already knows it anyway.

“She is aching, the Iron Bull,” Cole follows. “She is in agony.”

“Yeah, I got that much on my own, thanks.”

“So, help her.” He makes it sound so simple.

“She doesn’t want help.” Bull almost apologizes for his tone, but a perk of Cole being Cole is knowing he never has to. Nice part of the weird shit. “So, _how?_ What can I do? You’ve got to have an answer for that.”

“‘So, you and our qunari friend, hmm? That must be…challenging.’ He laughs and she smiles, but there is more she can’t figure how to explain. ‘You know me, always up for an impossible victory.’ She resorts to humor although she knows she isn’t very good at it. ‘It’s strange,’ she tells the other mage, the one she’s made her closest friend. She can trust him, she decides. ‘Have you ever felt like you can share a space with someone without fear? Not afraid at all and even…comfortable? Even sleeping together—not sex, but actually sleeping. Being able to fall asleep with someone else in the same room…Void, sleeping better with them there. Does that make any sense?’ He laughs, thinks there’s a joke he is missing. ‘Oh wait, you’re serious?’ He figures it out, speaks with sympathy. ‘He makes you feel safe?’ ‘Safe,’ she echoes, tasting the word in her mouth, feeling it, afraid to reject it like the foreign body it is. ‘I feel…safe. Bull makes me feel safe.’ She walks away and he doesn’t stop her. He understands, in his way. Better than she does.”

“That’s still creepy as shit, you know?” Bull huffs.

“I know you think so,” Cole answers, and Bull decides it’s time to take a walk.

“Hey, uh…thanks, kid.”

***

“Hey,” Bull says as he cracks open the door to her bedroom. “Can I come in?”

She doesn’t answer, so after another few seconds he asks again.

“I need to hear a clear yes or no, you know how this works,” he notes, hoping to add levity to the situation.

“Come in,” she replies sheepishly after another long and uncomfortable pause. She is so embarrassed about lashing out at him earlier she nearly turns him away, but she doesn’t want to do that to him.

And Maker, how it hurts, how it all hurts.

_“And it is killing you.”_

She remembers Cassandra telling her this unexplained physical alteration was also soon to be her undoing, and she thinks of this often. She doesn’t know anything about what Solas did to stabilize her, as he said, neither does she know how long term a solution it might be. Neither has she ever asked. Neither is she certain she could bear the answer.

And Bull figuring out the pain she’s in makes her feel so much worse about not telling him she could be dying. She doesn’t know if she should tell him, if she should risk upsetting him over nothing. No matter what Solas or Corypheus or anyone says about the anchor, she doesn’t fully understand it or its true effects on her body.

But Solas didn’t warn her about how much it would keep hurting. And the idea that perhaps he legitimately did not even know does not ease her in the slightest.

“May I?” Bull asks, tapping a hand on the bed, in the empty space beside her.

“Please,” she answers without hesitation, which neither of them had expected.

He lies down next to her and immediately envelopes her, wrapping his arms around her, grounding her to his warmth and comfort.

Like a security blanket, and she fits against him just right for what she needs.

He sees her, and he can meet that need.

She feels safe here like this. So safe, just like Dorian said. Nothing can hurt her, not even her own body.

“I don’t have a choice,” she breathes out after a moment. “You know that, Bull. I’m the only one who can close the rifts. I can’t stop. It’s not up to me, I don’t get any say in this.”

“But it hurts?” He is only trying to get in. He is only asking her to let him in.

“Yes, it…it hurts,” she admits. “It always hurts, but it’s worst at the rifts. And it gets worse every time we face one. _Every fucking time._ But I have to keep doing this, Bull, I’m not allowed to let it hurt me, I have to—”

“I know, kadan.” _My heart,_ he calls her. His heart. “But you don’t have to hide it from me. You have people you can talk to about this. People who lo—”

Just as Cole noted, he hasn’t said _those words_ either, although he has thought them as much as she apparently has.

Perhaps it’s time, then.

“Do you remember…” Words seem to catch in his throat. Important words, necessary words. Terrifying words. “Do you remember when you tried to talk about…about if we don’t make it…”

_“I’m a better man for having met you, kadan. I just hope this made things a little easier on your end.”_

She was so beautiful to him in that moment, as beautiful as she always is. Lying beside him, naked, the sun creeping in and shining so perfectly along every inch of her bare skin. Her necklace caught in the light, too, drawing his attention to her chest even more than those fantastic tits of hers always did. He had to say something, he couldn’t help himself. He tried to distract by pointing out how impressed he was she hadn’t yet needed him to stop, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t meaningful, it wasn’t real. Not in the right ways.

_“You did. And no matter what happens, if we don’t make it out of this—”_

_“Katoh.”_

But she took it much too far much too quickly, so much more than he could handle. He isn’t sure he’d previously realized these feelings could be so fragile, but he…

“You mean the time you said the watchword?” she teases. “Never thought you’d beat me to it, huh?”

“Astrid, please, I…”

_“Katoh. Stop. I can’t. We’re coming out of this alive. Together.”_

The very thought of losing her was enough to shake him. And here and now, in the present moment, he subconsciously takes hold of his half of the dragon’s tooth, grips it tight.

“What _were_ you going to say?” he asks tentatively. “If I hadn’t.”

“No matter what happens, if we don’t make it out of this…” she starts again, recalling this conversation exactly. Bull closes his eye at the words, holding his tongue, concealing the weight dropped on his chest as she speaks. “Please, I need you to know that I…”

She takes a deep breath in an anxious pause. She is yet so afraid to get the words out. But she knows she needs to get the words out.

“Bull, I love you.”

A most unlikely coupling if there ever was one. She is sure the “proper” Trevelyans—those oh so respectable Chantry loyalists not “cursed” with magic or busy trying to save the fucking world, those who’d all but disowned her and had treated her as no more than a scandal waiting to happen when her magic manifested—are absolutely appalled by the rumors of the Inquisitor, the “noble” and “honorable” Lady Trevelyan, and her torrid affair with the mercenary qunari spy under her employ. And if they only knew the half of it…

She’d never have seen it coming either, though, if she’s honest. Nothing about her life now makes any damn sense, but at least _this_ makes her happy.

Her eyes feel hot and she closes them tightly. She is so afraid she’s crossed a line, so afraid she’s just ruined the one good thing to come out of all this mess. Possibly the first truly good thing she’s ever had at all.

He kisses her forehead, breathes her in. “I love you, too. Fuck, kadan, I…”

He has never felt more Tal-Vashoth than he does right now, and he has never been more at peace with it.

 _Hissrad_ could not, after all, possibly be a less appropriate title for him in this moment. He has never been so open, so honest. He finds that he is actually grateful to have lost his place amongst the Qun, so she does not have to worry or doubt how much he means this.

He’d never known love before her. Most qunari don’t, not like this. Vulnerable, heart wrenching, unspeakably terrifying love. But he loves her, would do anything for her, and it would kill him if anything happened to her.

But it’s worth it. Every moment he spends by her side makes it all worthwhile.

“If I didn’t want to make Corypheus pay before…how much he’s hurt you…I need to make him _suffer.”_

“Bull,” she whispers his name with an audible lump in her throat. “I’m serious, you need to be prepared for…you need to be prepared to lose me.”

“No,” he responds without hesitation. “Fuck that. Is it so simple for you to accept that I could die just as easily in this fight?”

“Of course not,” she says tersely. “But…Bull, I don’t know how much I can trust Solas.”

“I know I don’t,” he almost laughs. “But what does that—”

_“And it is killing you.”_

“When Cassandra and Leliana first found me, the mark was…growing,” she explains. “With the Breach. It was horrible. And Cassandra said…she told me I was dying, Bull. And then Solas, apparently, helped me. He calmed it, stopped it getting worse. But what if he didn’t really? Or what if he could only do so much and only delayed the inevitable? I don’t know how much more fight I have in me, Bull, and with how much worse it’s getting, I…I cannot guarantee I’ll survive this. I can’t guarantee I’ll wake up tomorrow. And I’m sorry, Bull, I’m so sorry, I should have said something sooner, but…”

“Kadan,” he stops her. He takes a deep breath, everything in him so stiff and heavy and bordering on downright mournful. “Do you have any idea how fucking brave you are? How _strong?_ Fighting through the pain, living every moment in fear it could be your last? I can’t…”

“In a fucked up way, you realize I’m only alive because of Corypheus, right?” She, too, must steady her breathing, must hold back how this conversation hurts more than any rift ever could. “Without the anchor, I’d be dead already. But that mark is why I’m the target. Corypheus doesn’t care about you. You could walk away from this, it’s me he’s after. As long as he’s stopped, I’m the only one who needs to get hurt.”

“I can’t walk away, you know that.”

“I know, but I…I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

His greatest fear had once been madness. Now, though, it is having to live without her. Now, those fears are practically one in the same.

“No,” he says firmly. “I am _not_ losing you, no matter what. The only way that old darkspawn magister asshole gets to you is over my dead body. As long as I’m alive, kadan, you will be _safe.”_

Safe. With him, she is safe.

He told her that their second time together, but the context was so wildly different. She understood it then, could wrap her head around the idea that he would never _physically_ harm her, would never _physically_ hurt her in any way she could not handle.

But to know she is _emotionally_ safe from him—to know she is emotionally safe from _anyone_ —is still difficult for her to process.

And he could never have pictured himself in such a situation, either. Between being raised under the Qun, growing up into the Ben-Hassrath, going through reeducation…and then, under her influence, throwing all that away.

It was Krem who first taught him family, Krem and the Chargers who first showed him all he could have outside the Qun. But it was her who made him realize how important that is, how there is nothing more worth fighting for than the family he’s made for himself. Without her, he’d likely have let his training kick in and let the Chargers sacrifice their fucking lives to save that dreadnought, which makes him feel absolutely sick to think about. Because of her, he gave up everything he’d believed he was, and that gave him the freedom to be everything he _is._

_“I’m a better man for having met you, kadan.”_

And her heart will always be safe in his hands, because she _is_ his.

Just as he is hers.

He shifts away from her when his eye starts to water, and her breath catches.

He doesn’t think he’s cried at all since he was a child. He feels like he’d forgotten how to, or more like had the ability stripped from him in his youth. But with her— _for_ her—anything is possible.

“Bull…please don’t leave me.”

“I thought you said…” He tries to laugh, tries to crack a joke, but he doesn’t have it in him. There is nothing funny about any of this.

“I know what I said, but… _please._ Don’t go. I meant it, truly, I can’t blame you if you do but…I can’t…”

_“Katoh. Stop. I can’t.”_

“I’m not going anywhere, kadan,” he assures her.

Instead he takes her left hand and pulls it to his lips, kisses along the knuckles, ever so careful to not disturb the palm. “No matter what happens, I’m here, kadan. I’ve got you.”

_I’ve got you._

“You will never have to do this alone,” he continues. “I will never let anyone hurt you, not as long as I can help it. We are going to get Corypheus. Together. And if that mark is still getting worse, kadan, I will fucking kill Solas, too.”

That gets a good chuckle out of her, even if she does understand he is being completely serious.

“Bull. _Kadan.”_ She uses the endearment and his face lights up in jarring contrast to the tears streaming down his cheek. She doesn’t say it often, tells him it makes her feel appropriative of a culture she’s never known, which isn’t hers to take from. But he loves it when she does, so it feels right to say it now. “I love you.”

It took her far too long to tell him that, so it bears repeating. It will always bear repeating, no matter how many times she tells him.

“I love you, too.”

He pulls her in closer. He tries not to treat her like she’s fragile, but to be as delicate as he can at the same time. She welcomes the embrace, lets herself melt into it, lets her own tears fall against his skin.

Bull has often wondered if Varric is going to write about this someday, if there will ever be a novel about this for Cassandra to pretend she isn’t obsessed with.

He hopes there is, hopes the whole fucking world reads it. It might even give _The Tale of the Champion_ a run for its money.

He despises how much she’s suffering. He hates knowing there is nothing he can do. But he will do everything in his power to make it as much easier on her as he can.

She didn’t ask for the job. She didn’t ask for the anchor. She didn’t ask to stare death in the face every single day, neither did she ask to live with the ongoing potential risk of being fatally consumed by her own unique power. She never asked for any of it, she never _wanted_ any of it.

But she wanted him. Out of all the bullshit, he is her silver lining. He is what dulls the ache, what muffles all of the noise inside her head.

He holds her tight, as tight as he can without hurting her. Wrapped up in one another, they will always be safe.

She grounds herself to the rhythm of his breathing, standing out in this still and comfortable quiet.

Calm, peaceful, steady as a heartbeat, with each listening intently to the other’s.

Steady as a heartbeat, beating heavier as one. Heavier, stronger, healthier, safer. And no matter what happens, together.


	2. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. This legit was originally intended to be a true one shot but I have only just finally gotten the chance to play Trespasser for the very first time, and seriously immediately after I finished it last night I started writing this. Because I had to. And it didn't really make sense to not just tack it onto this fic as a second chapter.
> 
> This is actually complete now, though, promise. And with that being said, this chapter takes place during the end of Trespasser, so if you are like me and didn't get to play it for far too long but still haven't reached the end…again, this was meant to be a one shot in the beginning and therefore could with no problem still be read as such if you need to skip this entirely or even just come back to it later.

“Red told us what happened with your hand.”

Years have passed between the Iron Bull and his kadan. Life has been calmer since they killed Corypheus, but now it’s all gone to shit with the Qunari threat and all these fucking eluvians and…and _her._

Sera had cornered him in the Gilded Horn while the first Exalted Council meeting was happening.

“Has it been getting worse this whole time?” She was scared, too. The Inquisition isn’t just its forces and spies and connections, it’s…family. They’d all become a family. “Astrid, her hand or…the anchor or whatever. It looks like shite. So, you know, right? What the frig is happening to her, Bull?”

“It _was_ fine,” he told her. “Was. For a long time. Don’t know what changed, but…”

But he’s losing her, he feels it. These past years had been tough at times, but they had been good. Too good, apparently.

And now, they are nearing the end. They’ve approached elven ruins, and her mark grows more agitated with every eluvian, but they are close to reaching Solas and hoping they can beat the Viddasala to him.

Astrid is furious, but she is also afraid. She isn’t showing it, she’s putting on her bravest face, but she has never been more afraid of anything than she is right now.

But Bull can’t do the same. And not because he left the Qun and the Ben-Hassrath behind so long ago. He still had the training, and _that_ will always be a part of him.

No, he simply can’t, he simply feels too strongly to be able to conceal it and nothing he’s ever learned could fix that. He loves her and he cannot pretend he is anything less than hurt, angry, and _devastated._ He can downplay it for the sake of their mission and he is doing his damn best, but he can’t…

“So this is it, huh?” His voice shakes, which causes both Dorian and Sera to turn to him. Their hearts are breaking, too.

“Whatever happens…”

_“No matter what happens, if we don’t make it out of this—”_

But he can’t stop her this time. Because this time it’s real. This time he has no choice. He isn’t prepared, he isn’t ready to let her go.

But he has to.

And he has to hold himself together now, for her. He can’t show her his weakness when she’s the one dying, slowly and painfully. When this is over, he’s going to have to be the strong one for the others, as well, he’s sure. Dorian and Sera might have to watch it with their own eyes just as he, and that will be even before they return to the Winter Palace. Varric will probably go to Hawke, who has remained his dearest friend no matter how close he and Astrid have been, and he will find solace in her, but this will destroy him in its own right. There’s no telling how Cole will feel, although Bull has never looked forward to seeing him more. Fuck knows he’ll need the help only Cole can provide. But also Josephine and even Cassandra, too, and Leliana, Rainier…

Everyone loves her. Not like he does, but she will be missed by so many. Including the Chargers, but they’ll have his back through it. They all adore her, as well, but no one will pretend they’re feeling it as hard as he is. Krem might even find him another dragon skull.

“Whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything,” she tells him. “I love you.”

She says it like it’s the last time.

It’s probably the last time.

“I love you, too.” He has to pause, to beg himself not to break when there is so much left to do, so much yet at stake. “Kadan.”

As long as they each keep their necklaces, they’ll always be together. They’ll always…

This can’t be the last time.

Maybe Solas can help. He helped her before, maybe he can…

Solas, who mourned the orb instead of celebrating Corypheus’s defeat and then swiftly disappeared. Solas, who’s been missing for two entire years. Solas, who’s incited a Qunari attack intended with the promise of invasion.

Bull hates that _this_ is her only hope, even more than he hates allowing himself to feel that unlikely hope for himself at all.

But she went from hinting at marriage—looking further into the _future,_ looking into _their future_ —to saying “I love you” like she’ll never get the chance again.

His heart is pounding in his chest, under his half of the tooth. His heart is dying.

_“And it is killing you.”_

She still remembers Cassandra’s horrifying words, and how even then she couldn’t back down from trying to help. She never hesitated. Granted, at that point she believed she was dead anyway, if not from the mark then by Cassandra herself, but that wasn’t why. She’s seen the worst of the world, growing up in the Circle. She’s seen how downright monstrous people can be. And she was never going to be that monster she has looked in the eyes too many times within too many different faces.

But she hadn’t worried about that in so long. It never stopped hurting but the pain became monotonous over time, almost manageable, especially after the final battle with Corypheus. With the Breach sealed and most of the rifts closed, the anchor was just a part of her. A bit of a nuisance, but it didn’t worry her anymore.

And now it’s all come back at once, worse than it’s ever been. But they can’t stop. They have to find Solas, figure all this out.

***

“Everyone, get back!”

Her whole arm is in meltdown now, the anchor rapidly spreading beyond her hand. She feels its magic twist inside her, burning and completely beyond her control. She warns her companions before its energy explodes from her, and she is shouting even before that explosion knocks her off her own feet and she is slammed on her back to the ground.

“Kadan!”

“Astrid!”

Bull, Dorian, and Sera all shout for her as one, and Bull and Dorian both run to her. Sera keeps her distance, to no one’s surprise. She can’t bring herself to get closer but watches in terror, and she decides if her friend really doesn’t survive this, she is never going anywhere near another fucking cookie as long as she lives.

Sera had volunteered herself for this mission, too, for as awful as it is. She insisted on Varric staying back to tend to paperwork or whatever he does now, and he had reluctantly agreed. She wanted to be here, no matter how it went. She’s shit at goodbyes and it starts her into a legitimate anxiety attack every time she has to think about having to say goodbye to her, but she…she couldn’t not come with her for this. She’d have hopped on Varric’s back through the damn mirror if it had come down to it.

But that doesn’t mean _that_ magic doesn’t still scare the piss out of her, and it doesn’t mean she can let herself get that close to it.

Neither, it seems, does Astrid want any of them to.

“Stay back!” she shouts at their approach. “Get away from me, I can’t control it, I can’t—oh Maker, fuck, aagh…”

She loses the façade for just a moment, whimpers in pain and whispers, “I don’t want to die.”

_“We close the Breach, twice, and my own hand wants to kill me! Could one thing in this fucking world stay fixed?”_

Her angry outburst at Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen (in regards to two of the three of them, anyway) is regrettable if it’s to be the last time she ever sees them, but she doubts anyone is faulting her for any overly emotional reactions.

She gave most of her free life to the Inquisition and to the whole of Thedas, and now she giving her life _for_ them.

“Help me, I don’t…I don’t…”

_“I can’t. We’re coming out of this alive. Together.”_

They should have prepared better. They should have been more mindful of the possibility the mark could still get her in the end. Neither took it seriously enough, and they are both suffering for it now.

_“You’re my kadan. That’s a choice I make every day. I don’t need to be bound to it.”_

He feels so fucking stupid for not taking her interest in making the permanence of their relationship official more seriously. It doesn’t matter, neither was planning on going anywhere regardless, but if she cared enough to bring it up then he should have cared more, too. Maybe if he’d seen this coming, if he’d known how much worse it was going to get and how quickly…

“Help me.” She is speaking to no one, though, she knows. No one _can_ help her, with the only possible exception being the person she has already openly declared she’s aiming to kill. And at this rate, she’d bet Bull will rush to end him before she can even get close.

She takes a deep breath, strengthens her resolve, and stands up. No matter how many times she’s beaten down, she _always_ gets back up.

And her partner and her friends want so badly to believe that is somehow still possible now.

She is shaking and wavering as she walks, her footsteps uneven and visibly difficult.

“Keep a safe distance,” she commands as firmly as she can. This is followed, however, by addressing all three of them with a quiet and morose, “I don’t want to hurt you, too.”

They have to keep going. It doesn’t matter what is about to happen, _they have to keep going._

***

The meltdowns keep getting worse, keep getting harder and harder to bear.

It takes everything in his power for Bull to maintain that distance she’s asked of them. He doesn’t care if it hurts him, too, he doesn’t know if he can even feel physical pain anymore. His body is numb, charging through like it is no more than a mindless weapon, making use of that article he jokes about loving so much in _the_ Iron Bull. It’s all he can do.

But he does maintain that distance because when he gets close enough to catch the look in her eyes, all he sees is fear and her begging for him to back off. She’ll shake her head, silently pleading with him to stay as far away as possible without leaving her behind.

She feels so selfish for thinking there is no one she’d rather die beside than him. She wants to send him away, wants to not make him go through being there in person.

And she hates herself more and more for continuing to take as much comfort as there could be to take every time the anchor bursts, that he is there with her. That at least she isn’t dying alone, but with the one she loves more than anything else in this Maker-forsaken world.

Dorian, as well, is her best friend, and she knows for a solid fact this is mutual. And she and Sera have built a strong bond, too, so much so that she’s already been inducted into the Red Jennies (in addition to her already basically being one of the Bull’s Chargers—she gets around, it seems, and it’s because her loved ones _want_ her around).

She’s always been nervous about what Varric might do with this, but for the first time she actually hopes he tells her story once she’s gone. She realizes it’s a story worth sharing, especially since it is so much more than just hers.

“Run,” she yells yet again, screaming in pain at the same time. Every part of her left hand and now all the way up to her elbow is consistently buzzing with that startlingly, stunningly green energy, searing in agony and no longer letting up for a second. She does her best to voluntarily discharge it when she feels the magical tension in it growing, but it’s hurting so much it’s becoming almost impossible to detect the difference before it’s too late.

The anchor bursts so intensely that yards ahead, her companions are still knocked back by the blast. She, herself, is lifted off the ground, and when she is forced back down onto it she loses her vision even before she makes contact, hitting her head so hard she loses consciousness, her body still convulsing, arm aglow.

Dorian is no healer, but he uses his own magic to find the fracture in her skull and the slight misalignment of her spine, but the amount of mana he must expend to put them back together to the best of his minimal abilities nearly puts him on his ass, as well. So he does something he’d vowed never to do with the Inquisition: he cuts his arm and uses his blood to finish the job.

Bull can’t look this time, and neither can Sera. They don’t even care he’s resorted to blood magic, both certain they’d do the same if they could. But they can’t watch her whole body heave while she lies helpless and supine, all of them so lost they simply let Dorian do whatever he must do, no matter the cost.

Bull rests his hands on Sera’s shoulders, yet doing his damnedest to be strong. Sera is crying, he can hear it, but he doesn’t say a word about it. He’ll be doing enough of that himself when this is over.

Once she is as stable as he can get her, Dorian downs a healing potion and moves away. He doesn’t want her to know what he’s just done. He isn’t sure she’ll mind the action itself, but she’d be mad he did it for her, that he outed his ability to do so for her sake.

Sera sniffles and swallows hard, wipes her eyes, and steps away from Bull, trying to pretend he didn’t catch it. She knows better, but she also knows this is neither the time nor the place.

Astrid feels sick and she is still struggling to see, even after she is able to stand again.

Her stomach turns and her vision clouds after only a couple of steps, and she panics when she feels a large hand take hold of her right.

“Bull, _no!”_ she exclaims. “You can’t…I’m fine. I’ll be fine. We just have to—”

“No, you’re not,” he interrupts. “You can hardly walk, kadan. Let me help you.”

_Let me help you one last time._

She needs to hide it better, she thinks to herself, the only thought which comes to her with even the smallest hint of clarity.

“You can’t hide it from me, you know that,” he says as though he’s read her mind. “Ben-Hassrath, remember?”

He is only trying to make her feel better about her total inability to conceal her stumbling. Dorian and Sera are every bit as aware of it as he is. But she’s trying, she is trying so hard, so he’ll do the favor of letting her believe she’s having any success at all.

She can’t argue with him. She wants to, _needs_ to, but she doesn’t have enough left in her. Her time has almost come and they aren’t at the end yet. She can’t waste any energy on what she knows is a protest she won’t win.

She may not make it without his help, anyway. She prays to gods she isn’t sure she believes in with as much focus as she can muster that she won’t accidentally kill him as they walk.

As if this isn’t killing him, regardless.

***

By the time they reach Solas, she is crawling, dragging herself by only her right hand on her knees. She’s out of time and everyone knows it. This is it, but they found him.

The fucking Dread Wolf himself, apparently.

And he still calls her “my friend,” surprises them all by dulling the pain and ceasing the anchor’s spreading with a single glance.

He reveals who he is, what he’s done, and what he plans to do. She doesn’t know what to make of how apologetic he seems, how he is willing to help her even now, when his plans are to destroy the fucking world.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “Take my hand.”

He drew her to him so he could save her, he said. None of this makes sense. Nothing much of anything about these past few years has made any fucking sense.

Dorian has to put his arms in front of Bull and Sera, both of them ready to charge when Solas touches her. Because he can feel the pull of the Fade, he knows something significant is about to happen. Solas is either going to help her or kill her, Dorian can’t tell which, but he has to admit if only to himself that either way is preferable to what she is enduring without Solas’s intervention.

“Live well, while time remains,” Solas tells her when he washes unknown, ancient magic over her, and it almost sounds like he means it.

She probably does believe it. Despite the life she’s led, it has somehow never truly hardened her and she has always tried to see the best in people. She may have never fully trusted Solas but she is loyal to a fault, and his having once fought by her side and saved her life appears to mean she believes she can still change his mind.

Which is what no one wants to hear, worse yet now that all of the eluvians are under his control, but whatever Solas did to her before he steps through the one behind him did… _something,_ indeed.

She can’t breathe, every part of her overwhelmed by the fact that the mark is changing in ways none of them understand. It’s burning, but not like it had been. It’s burning in what feels sort of like a cleansing, and she doesn’t know what this means or what she’s supposed to do with it.

It’s unbearable all the same, though, and it is only a few more seconds before she cannot take anymore, before body and soul give out on her. Everything turns white, and she passes out.

And as she goes limp, her arm turns from that bright, brilliant green to black and the anchor dissipates, but it takes every part of her arm it had touched with it.

No one cares, though, when Bull runs to her side and checks her pulse. She has one. She’s alive, even if barely clinging.

She’s alive.

_“We’re coming out of this alive. Together.”_

She is alive.

***

“Get some rest, Chief.” Krem sounds exasperated. “The healers said she’s going to be fine.”

“You weren’t _there,_ Krem,” Bull hisses back. “You didn’t see…”

“She’s going to make it,” Krem reiterates. “That’s all that matters.”

His voice cracks a little, too. He may not have been there, but he heard enough. He didn’t expect to ever see her again, and nothing would have been the same without her. He’d have kept his personal feelings about it away from Bull, as would the rest of the Chargers, but none of them would have been okay either.

“I’m not leaving her,” Bull insists. “Go ask Dalish how her ‘bow’ works again or make the bard write a song about you or something. I’ll be right here.”

He needs to be there when she wakes up. She’ll be in for a shock, there’s no doubt about that, and he genuinely has no idea how she’ll take it but he needs to be there to see her through it.

And they can do that. Because they’re alive. She’s alive.

“Alright,” Krem acquiesces. “I’ll be at the tavern if you need me. And drinks’ll be on me this time.”

“Thanks, Krem.”

“Any time, Chief.”

Krem leaves, but Varric is only moments behind to take his place.

“Hey. How’re you holding up there, Tiny?”

“I’m…” Bull doesn’t know how to answer. He is relieved, downright elated, but he is every bit as scared as he was before. Until he sees her eyes open, until he hears her voice again, he cannot let himself believe she’s okay. He can’t take the risk of getting his hopes up when it still seems so tentative.

“So, Chuckles is Fen’Harel, huh?” Varric’s tone is much too light, with an undertone reminiscent of laughter, and it doesn’t sit well with Bull at all. “Shit, I can’t _wait_ to see the look on Daisy’s face when I—”

“Really not sure what’s so fucking funny, Varric,” Bull snaps.

“Let me let you in on a little secret, Tiny,” Varric replies calmly. “We’ve all heard the stories about what a miserable shitshow Kirkwall was, and they are _all_ true. Even I couldn’t make _that_ up if I tried. And Hawke…Hawke nearly died killing the Arishok. Came a lot closer than I tell it. She might not have lost any limbs, but besides that she looked just like this. And Anders and I both stayed by her side for days, just like you. But at the end of it, by whatever fucking miracle it had to take, she made it out and she kept on fighting. And at the end of the day, no matter what disasters come with it, knowing you’ll see the people you love again tomorrow… _that_ is what you have to hold onto. _That_ is all that matters. No matter how bad it got—and I’m not even going to pretend I’m not glad I didn’t have to see that—it’s over now. Astrid is going to be fine. She’s a fighter, just like Hawke. She’s a survivor, and she did what survivors do: she _survived._ I only fight for the best, Tiny, and _she_ is one of them.”

It’s unlike Varric to let his guard down like that, to speak so frankly about all he’s seen without being able to hide behind a book. And even then, his writing tells a story but he doesn’t insert his feelings into the narrative any more than he has to. Even in his non-fiction he is only a character, detached as the storyteller. But this is important. This, as he said, as Krem said, matters.

***

When she awakes, it is with the ungodliest scream.

She barely has a chance to open her eyes before she feels the anchor flare, before she is overtaken by that same pain which had been warning her of her impending demise.

“Kadan,” Bull says gently. “It’s alright. _You’re_ alright.”

“No,” she wails. “Bull, no, you can’t…”

She goes to clutch her arm, driven by the ache, but she realizes she is grasping at nothing.

“You’re okay, kadan,” Bull presses. “It can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But it…”

“Phantom pain,” he explains. “It won’t last forever.”

“Bull, I…”

“You’re marrying a man with one eye and eight fingers, kadan, remember,” he actually laughs. Fuck, he is so happy she’s here. “I know a thing or two.”

“Wait, I’m…what?”

He laughs some more at the look on her face, switching from horror to confusion to a strained smile.

Her remaining hand is still unthinkingly trying to take hold of the left, it is evident she is still hurting and she has certainly not had anywhere near enough time to process any of what happened with Solas. But her eyes stare into his and for a moment she can almost forget about the rest of it.

“I told you, when this is over, if you like the binding…and we both know how much you like binding.” He jokes with her. He can do that now.

Like Varric said, now that Bull is able to speak with her, her survival is all that matters.

She settles for gripping her left shoulder, digging her nails in deep to try to distract from the ache of what is no longer there to feel it.

“And don’t worry,” he teases, “I can still string you up to a chandelier just fine like this.”

“I love you,” she says, and now they know it won’t be the last time.

“I love you, too,” he responds just as she breaks into harsh sobbing.

She can’t bring herself to remove her nails’ clutches from her shoulder, but he moves in and holds her tight as she is.

_“We’re coming out of this alive. Together.”_

It’s real again. She is real again. And even here and now, once more facing the literal potential end of the world, their worlds remain in one piece. They are alive, they are together. Two beating hearts under one dragon’s tooth, belonging to each other. Forever.


End file.
